Prima Donna
by cloudymagnolia
Summary: When Howl gets wind that the anniversary of Sophie's father's death is right around the corner, he aspires to find a way to entertain her. But maybe taking her to see an opera wasn't such a good idea...
1. Chapter 1

Prima Donna  
Chapter One  
Rating: K+  
Disclaimer: Howl's Moving Castle does NOT belong to me. No sue.  
Dedicated to: vino-chan

Author's Notes: THERE ARE FOOTNOTES! Some of them function more as an author's commentary, so if they bother you, feel free to ignore them. However, as this fic progresses, since this is written in Sophie-biased third person I only thought it fair to occasionally explain Howl's point of view 1.

CONTEST: Belladonna Gracehart (a character in this story - she shows up in the next chapter) is based off of a specific character. The prize for giving me the correct EXACT medium and character was the dedication of the story in their honor, but as you can see, someone already won the contest (congratz to vino-chan!). I'll post the answer at the end of the final chapter. I'm keeping the clues up, however, so feel free to send me a guess vie e-mail or review.

All right, I've dithered for long enough. On to the fic!  
--

"Hush, hush," Sophie begged, kneeling by the bed. "Don't cry," she whispered, dabbing at his forehead again with a wet washcloth. "Please, sh," she continued. She had been doing this since seven o'clock that night, and it was two in the morning now. She was hot, tired, irritated, and scared out of her mind. She had never seen Markl so sick before. He had come down that morning complaining of a head-ache, but it was all but forgotten as soon as she mentioned a trip to Cesari's to visit her sister. All but forgotten, that is, until he had fallen off of the bench at dinner, curling into a crying and whimpering ball, his forehead on fire, but his hands like ice. She had done the only thing she could think of to do, hustling him up the stairs and into bed, force-feeding him tea and the occasional spoon-full of medicine. He had been crying and whimpering the entire time, his feeble voice echoing around the nearly-empty house in an ominous manner. Sophie had discovered that he would quiet a little as long as he could hear the sound of her voice, and had done her best to talk continuously for the past five hours, alternating prayers and lamentations with soothing nothings. She was terrified that Markl wouldn't go to sleep. She was terrified that he would. All the time that she was whispering and nursing him her mind was forcing her to relive her father's final hours on earth, his fever, and her mother's sorrow.

"Please, little boy, little sweetling, no flesh of mine whom I love so much…" more than anything she wanted Howl to come home. She wanted some company, she wanted some rest, she wanted another living being to come and get her mind off of the single track it had been stuck on, of her father's eyes flittering closed over a sweat-dampened face, never to open again, his lips trying to utter one last word before his soul fled his body. But she was alone in the house. Not even Calcifer was here for company, and she feared that after much more of this it would start taking toll on her already-wearied mind. With a jolt she realized that as she had lost herself in thought she had allowed the monotonous drone of her voice to stop as well. Markl immediately reacted, struggling more under her firm but gentle grip.

Sophie closed her eyes. She couldn't stand to repeat the same entreaties and empty consolations one more time. But as soon as she stopped talking, her surrogate son, as dear as any true child could be, would be in more pain. A thought occurred to her, but she squashed it down. It sprang up again. She banished it with an emphatic shake of her head. The third time it swam across her mind she clenched her fists and pressed them to her eyes. Not again! She thought. Never again.

As Markl's groans echoed in the silence, her head popped up. Well… she thought. It used to calm _me_ down. Maybe it will work on him. Her mind was decided as Markl thrashed out particularly violently. Besides, she thought dryly, it would be hard to make this din any worse.

The first note was wavering and uncertain, and it sounded strange in Sophie's ears after having not sung for so long. But Markl relaxed ever-so-lightly, so Sophie continued, gaining confidence as she softly sang through every lullaby she could remember. Once she had worn out all of the lullabies she began on all of the folk songs she could remember, slowing them down several times so as not to disturb his rest. He had finally quieted and stopped thrashing, but the unevenness of his breathing showed that he was not yet asleep. Lullabies, folk songs, Christmas carols, she had even sung a few of the less-embarrassing parodies to while away the time. For the first time in years she blessed her schooling, which allowed her to sing continuously like this for the past three hours, but she was _running out of ideas_. She only knew one other song – well, series of songs, really – but she _certainly _didn't want to sing that. As she gracefully diminuendoed for the last note and watched Markl's ever so close to sleeping form she made her decision, and began the overture of the last music she ever learned 2.

This piece alone took over two hours, so by the time she was finished the sun had long since come up over the trees, and Markl had finally drifted into something resembling a peaceful slumber. Gratefully she rested her head on the edge of the bed, ignoring the protests of the rest of her body, thoroughly cramped from kneeling in the same position for so long.

Her eyes had barely fluttered closed when something caused them to jerk open again. Her first thought was that it had been Markl, and she quickly placed a hand over his forehead. She sighed with relief when she found that, although he was still warmer than normal, the fever had almost completely dissipated. She smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately, taking a brief moment to relax in the morning sounds of the castle: The gentle creaking of a few of the older floorboards, rebelling against the constant motion; the sound of hot water running – wait. The castle… _moving? _Hot water running? _Howl and Calcifer were back?_

"Oh, _no!_" She gasped, leaping to her feet, and promptly falling back down as her legs refused to take her weight. She would've sworn had she not been in Markl's room, so instead she contented herself with thumping the life back into her calves and thighs with judicious feeling. She bit back a yelp as the numbness was quickly replaced with the pain of blood flowing back into sluggish veins, then gritted her teeth and ignored it. She jumped to her feet and raced down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of Calcifer.

"When did you get home?" she almost yelled, gripping the back of the chair set in front of the hearth until her knuckles turned white.

"About a half an hour ago," was the calm reply. If he noticed that Sophie's dress was dirty and mussed, having never taken it off, and that her face was red and blotchy from keeping back tears he didn't mention it. "You have a very pretty singing voice."

Sophie glared at him, only fatigue keeping her from getting a bucket of cold water. Instead she contented herself with swearing. Quite viciously. At Calcifer. Then she walked with as much dignity as she could muster to her room where she fainted onto her bed and knew no more.  
--

"Mm…" She snuggled deeper into the covers. She knew that she had to get up and start breakfast, but she was _just _so comfortable with the bedclothes tucked up to her chin. She smiled as she felt a soft hand touch her cheek.

"Howl?" she asked without opening her eyes. She heard him sigh from somewhere behind her.

"Thank goodness you woke up," he murmured. This got her attention. She put a hand up over her eyes to protect them from the morning sun and discovered that she didn't need it.

"Why is it so dark?" she asked, pushing the covers off of her and sitting up. With a jolt she realized she was still dressed in the clothes from yesterday. Howl was perched on the edge of her bed, watching her with concerned eyes.

"It's six in the evening," Howl replied. "Sophie, are you feeling all right?"

"How's Markl?" she asked, nearly interrupting him. Howl frowned, but answered her all the same.

"He has a little bit of a cold. He said that he was sick last night and you stayed up with him. Are you coming down with the same thing he had?" Howl placed a hand on her forehead to test her temperature, which she swatted away, not unkindly.

"I'm fine," she murmured with a yawn. "I was just up all last night nursing him." Howl's eyebrows rose.

"He was that sick?" he questioned in surprise. Sophie nodded yes, then stopped herself.

"I… don't know." She whispered, self-consciously playing with the hem of her apron. She frowned, then continued haltingly. "I might have over-reacted. You see…" she paused, very conspicuously not looking at Howl. "You see, my father died six years ago tomorrow." She didn't need to look at him to see the comprehension dawning behind his stormy eyes, and she wasn't surprised when Howl scooped her into his arms, murmuring soothing things. She buried her face in his white silk shirt, reveling in the warmth and _humanity_ of him after the near hysteria she had experienced the night before.

"Sophie, I'm sorry," he muttered miserably. Sophie had to smile at how pathetic he sounded. She allowed herself to be held for a few more moments before wriggling out of his grip.

"It's all right," she replied. "I just keep myself too busy to think on the twenty-fourth of November every year is all." She shook her hair out lightly, trying to lose the sticky feeling that comes from having worn the same clothes for too long. "Well." She said finally after a moment of almost-awkward silence. "I'm going to go take a bath."

"All right," Howl answered, still lounging on her bed. "I'll go bully Calcifer into running some hot water." Sophie nodded. She was nearly out the door when Howl called back to her.

"Sophie? What was the name of the song you were singing?" Howl missed the hooded look that passed over her eyes. For a moment Sophie considered not answering, then sighed.

"It's called 'The Flower of the Wilting Evening'." She sighed when she saw the blank look on his face, and grudgingly continued, "It's from the opera 'Charité'."

A small light of recognition flashed behind Howl's eyes. "One of Macambre's?" he asked. Sophie nodded, and turned away, exiting the room more abruptly then she had meant to. If Howl noticed he didn't give rise to the fact, merely exiting behind her, casually ordering Calcifer to run Sophie some hot water, a preoccupied look in his eyes.  
--

"Hsssst!" Calcifer turned towards the door, apparently where the sound had come from.

"_Hssst!"_ It came again, more urgently this time. "_Calcifer!_" a voice croaked hoarsely. Calcifer stared at the door from his perch in the grate with an aggravated expression.

"Howl," he said finally, "What are you doing? Why are you hiding behind your own front door?"

"Is she here?" Howl called furtively.

"Is who here?" Calcifer asked resignedly, rolling his eyes up towards the cloudy sky he could see through the chimney. There was a soft thwump, and then muttered curses. Calcifer chuckled as he realized that Howl must have kicked his foot against the door and been repelled by his own anti-forced-entry charm3.

"Sophie of course! Who else?" Howl growled, regaining his composure.

"I really don't know. I'll just go pop out and find her, shall I?" Calcifer asked, grinning wickedly, flying halfway up the chimney before heeding Howl's cries and settling himself back in the fireplace.

"She's at Lettie's – the _real _Lettie's house for the day, as you know perfectly well, you stupid sod. Now stop hanging about on Kingsbury doorsteps and get in here," Calcifer growled, still grinning4.

"All right, all right," Howl moaned, regally throwing the door open and throwing it shut again just as majestically. The door clattered in its frame and flew open again from the momentum.

"But you wouldn't give me that look if you knew what type of back-breaking labor I've been doing all day –" he replied conversationally as he shut the door more gently, but Calcifer interrupted,

"Out gallivanting at the pub again, no doubt, or playing with the pretty dancing girls?"

"You wound me," Howl replied, throwing a hand theatrically over his heart. "To think, such a baseless accusation, especially after I spent all morning and a good bit of the afternoon acquiring these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two yellow slips of paper.

"These?" Calcifer asked, for the first time showing interest. "What are 'these'?" He bobbed up out of the grate.

"Ah, well you might ask," Howl replied, "for 'these' are…" he flourished them in front of Calcifer's nose, just far enough away that he wouldn't set them on fire.

"Two tickets to 'Charité'? You're taking her to the opera?" he asked in disbelief. "I thought you _hated _the opera!"

"Well, normally I do," Howl replied, "but this one is supposed to be superb – the music! The dancing! The acting!"

"It's six hours long," Calcifer pointed out.

"I know," Howl grimaced. "But Sophie was singing one of the main songs this morning, and I was trying to think of a way to distract her from her grief tomorrow – I expect you heard that conversation?" Calcifer nodded. "So, what better way then a six-hour-long opera she obviously enjoys? I'll take her out to lunch before hand, the cocktail party will last until at least eleven, I'm sure, and that just leaves one hour that I need to entertain her before the bell tolls twelve!" Howl stretched out on the sofa like a cat, practically choking on self-congratulation.

"Howl," Calcifer began. He realized by the dreamy expression on his friend's face that nothing he said would be comprehended, but pressed on doggedly. "I realize that you must have gone to a supreme effort to get tickets for such a famous opera just a day in advance, but I don't think this is a very good idea. First of all, I think there might be more behind Sophie's singing than just enjoying that opera. Second of all, did it ever occur to you that Sophie might like to use tomorrow to spend with her family? To _grieve, _perhaps?" Calcifer waited for a reply, but finally gave up when he received none. He shrugged his fiery shoulders and began floating up the stairs towards Markl's room. He wanted to be nearby when the storm broke, but not all the gold in Ingary could get him to sit quietly in his grate while Howl and Sophie were having a row.  
--

1 I like footnotes.  
2 I know that an overture is all instrumental, but I couldn't remember the name for the first _sung _piece of music.  
3 The wording on 'anti-forced-entry charm' bothers me. I feel like there's a word that means 'anti-forced-entry' that I'm forgetting.  
4 This is my small tribute to Diana Wynne Jones's novel. If you've never read it, don't let Calcifer's dialogue bother you.

CLUE: The writer is contemporary, but not modern, and his pieces are set in the western United States.

There you go, almost four clues in one. If anybody has any guesses already, please review or e-mail and tell me. Also, if I've made any fluency/grammar/spelling errors, please _review and tell me_. I'll fix them, to the best of my ability. And, finally, please just review in general! Make me happy! Since unfinished fics bother me, I'm going to post this all at one time, so I'm not going to do any withholdings-of-updates-til-I-get-a-certain-number-of-reviews, but please, verify my existence in the world! (This concludes the shameless groveling. Next chapter ahead.)


	2. Chapter 2

For ratings, disclaimers, and author's notes, please see the previous chapter.  
Dedicated to: vino-chan  
--

"I'm home!" Sophie called, hanging up her coat and hat. "Markl, Howl?" She received no answer, but did receive quite a shock when she turned around and saw Howl standing not four feet away from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to help stifle a little choked scream.

"Am I really that scary?" Howl asked, grinning broadly while Sophie caught her breath. As soon as she had reclaimed it, she turned on him, scolding about foolish wizards who throw power around for useless trifles. Howl cut her off with an elegant wave of one perfectly manicured hand.

"Now, now, my dear, I'm sure you'll forgive all when you see what a little fairy has left in your coat pocket." Howl feigned disinterest while Sophie crept to her coat uncertainly and dug through the pockets until she found the two yellow slips of paper.

"What? Howl," she asked, drawing them close to her nose in order to read the calligraphic script. "Tickets to Charité? What in the world…?"

"I'm taking you," Howl said, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "Tomorrow." He waited patiently for her enthusiastic, albeit belated response, but it never came. Sophie placed the tickets silently on the coffee table and sat on the sofa, her eyes never once leaving the floor.

"Of course, if you don't like it…" Howl sounded slightly hurt, but still Sophie couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. "Well," Howl finally muttered stiffly, "it's your choice. You can come with me or not." His attempt at sounding casual failed miserably. He left the room abruptly, putting the opera tickets in a more conspicuous location as he went. Sophie didn't look up until well after he had disappeared into his room.

"Fine." She spat to no one in particular, "I'll go to the sodding opera. As long as it will keep the great fop happy." With that, she too closeted herself in her room, leaving the living room, in Calcifer's opinion, ominously silent.

"Rise and shine, my darling!" Howl trilled, throwing aside her curtains. "Come on, chop chop, our lunch reservations are for noon!"

Sophie sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, regarding Howl with something akin to distaste.

"Now, now," he scolded jokingly, "don't be angry with me for disturbing your beauty sleep. But you need to get up and get ready if we're to be punctual."

Sophie was irked that Howl had never even considered that she might refuse his invitation, but as she _had _decided to go, she decided she wouldn't start a row over it. After all, it wasn't bad advice, Sophie reflected as she carefully tied her largest apron over one of her formal gowns. Knowing _this _household, there probably wouldn't even be breakfast on the table yet.

She was proved correct by Markl's too-hopeful expression as she entered the main room. She chuckled at his doe eyes, ruffling his hair and making her morning greetings to Markl and Calcifer as she passed the hearth to wrestle one of the pewter frying pans off its hook on the wall.

"How would you like your eggs this morning, Markl?" Sophie sang, allowing the cheerful presence of her patchwork family to soothe her ruffled feathers. It was some time as she was humming cheerfully, cooking breakfast, that she felt Howl's warm smile on her back, but she ignored it stalwartly, not letting it distract her from the cheerful banter she was keeping up with Markl and Calcifer.

Sophie smiled impulsively at her surrogate son as he wolfed his breakfast, all her best efforts at improving the table manners Howl had never corrected steadfastly disregarded.

"So, aren't you going somewhere today, Sophie?" Markl gargled out around a mouthful.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly, but Howl interrupted her with a flippant reply of his own.

"Why, or course we are! I'm taking her to see an opera." Markl gazed at him, unblinking, for several seconds, until finally,

"I'm glad I'm not going." Howl suppressed a snort of mirth while Sophie laughed outright.

"You're quite a lucky boy," Sophie admitted, smiling as if it were a joke, but looking on with earnest eyes. If Howl noticed the obvious jibe, he ignored it, instead starting some superfluous conversation with Calcifer.

At half past nine, Howl ordered Sophie to her room, telling her to get ready with a decidedly patronizing air, announcing that they were to see the sights in Kingsbury before stopping off at an expensive Frengland bistro for lunch 1.

Sophie, taking a spiteful pleasure out of being as contrary as possible, took as long as she could manage while getting ready. Howl, instead of rising to the silent bait merely knocked at her door and called to her that he was flattered she was spending so much time on her appearance for him, but that she really needed to have some regards for the _time_. At ten-fifteen she was at the end of her stalling tether, and emerged from her room in a cyclone of silks and lace. She was greeted by a mysteriously empty house, which Howl brushed off with a wave of his hand and a few murmured words about how the other occupants had left hurriedly some time ago, muttering about a 'bad aura'; and with that, they set off.

Howl really had spared no expense on this trip, Sophie mused to herself, contemplating the chaise-and-four Howl had rented to ferry them about the capitol. Although, on the other hand, she might have been able to buy into the sincerity of the occasion slightly more if Howl had managed to refrain from flirting with every shop attendant and waitress they met.

A dull ache began in the backs of Sophie's temples at the first 'Now what is such a lovely young lady as you doing working on such a lovely day', and it only increased in ferocity every time Howl added a 'certainly a gorgeous girl like yourself can find us a matching pair of gloves' to the bill, or put in an extra tip to a particularly handsome shopgirl 2.

It didn't help that Howl only paid attention to Sophie when asking her if she approved of something – when with the complete strangers employed by the shops he prattled on about everything from historical drama to the weather. She was almost at her breaking point – almost to the point where she was about to _order_ Howl to take her home, when they arrived at the Frengland bistro, and the careful courtesy Howl paid her as they situated themselves among their parcels, and the romantic feel of the restaurant mollified her temper. Howl was quiet and attentive to her needs and whims, allowing her to sink into her thoughts, and only disturbing her, rarely and briefly, over something small that caught his eye.

"Sophie?" he asked her at one point, genuine concern in his eyes. "I know I pressed this hard, but if you're not feeling up to it we can go home, all right?" A silent battle ensued inside Sophie's head – reason and spite fighting to the death inside her skull – and eventually spite won. She flashed Howl the most brilliant smile she had in her repertoire and murmured something neutrally soothing to calm his ruffled feathers. If Howl raised his eyebrows at that response, he only did it after Sophie had subsided into quiet reflection once again, and he questioned her no more on her willingness for the selected outing.

After taking some wine in the hopes it would soothe her headache, and fortifying herself on delicate dishes of fish and salad, Sophie felt well-enough equipped for the trials ahead to paste an almost sincere smile on her face when Howl indicated it was time to go.

Although Sophie didn't readily notice it, her behavior had had more of an effect on Howl than she would have assumed. As they ascended the carriage, Howl caught up her gloved hand, making worried circles in her palm with his thumb along the whole silent journey to the opera house. Once they had reached the grand theatre, however, amid the hustle and bustle of the famous and wealthy, Howl was in his element, and visibly shrugged off any unease he might have been harboring. Contrarily, as Howl became more talkative and flamboyant, Sophie became more distant and withdrawn, becoming ever more the submissive, meek little mouse who had worked in a hat shop once upon a time.

The lobby was stuffy and crowded, the city's wealthy citizens standing back-to-back and elbow-to-elbow. Away across the distance, two harried-looking ushers could just be seen, standing on either side of the gilded auditorium doors. Sophie, standing on tiptoe and screaming into Howl's ear, just barely made herself heard above the dull roar of the crowd, slipped off his arm, and glided through the tangled mob with an ease that belied of either natural talent or long practice. Howl mused idly for a while, as he stood in the endless line that eventually ended at the auditorium doors, on why he had never before noticed the extraordinary talent of Sophie's to slip seamlessly into a crowd. Preoccupied by these thoughts, he was startled out of them by the reappearance of his lady from the powder-rooms, and together they entered the darkened hall. In addition to the light being poor, it seemed to be, if it was possible, sweatier and more crowded than the lobby outside, with people tripping over themselves and each other to get into the aisles, or out of them. Eventually they found their seats and made themselves comfortable, or at least as comfortable as they could be with a fat, red-faced gentleman on one side, and a bony lady with numerous dogs on the other. Both Howl and Sophie subsided into silence, both, unbeknownst to the other, preparing themselves for the expected trials of sitting through the show.

As the curtain went up and a more perfect darkness descended upon them, Sophie vaguely reflected on how the thunderous applause would sound distant, softer, from the stage. The band struck the first chord, and Sophie's breath caught in her throat as memories of a time in her life she had buried deep came rushing to the surface.

Howl was just settling himself in for a nice, long nap, when the Prima Donna of the show – playing the part of an unlikely heroine, according to the program – caught his eye and fixed it there. She was harsh, young, and vibrant, seeming very out of place in the role her character started out in – a moderately successful merchant's daughter, training to be whatever sort of mistress or professional her father could set her up as. She had red curly hair, an ample figure, and a predatorial gaze – and, Howl realized with something akin to guilt, had he still not had a heart she would have been his next conquest. Howl looked over at Sophie, and let her calm, attentive gaze reassure him. He did not notice the forced schooling of her features, or the unnaturally stiff and still way she was sitting in her chair, and as he returned his attention to the stage, he completely missed the too-bright reflection of the stage-lights on her grey eyes.  
--

1 Someone once pointed out to me that the language of Ingary would be Inglish, which is English, from England. Using this same method, the language of Frengland would presumably be French.  
2 Sophie is overly sensitized to Howl's behavior at this point of the story. Although the things that Howl are doing are real, she's most likely over-reacting. Don't worry about his behavior .

CLUE: The author of the book is celebrated for his portrayals of rural life, as well as loneliness, brotherhood, faith and fairness.

A far more obscure clue this time, but the character has made her debut. Any guesses? Any comments, questions, concerns, compliments, or criticisms? Well then, review, of course!


	3. Chapter 3

For rating, disclaimer, author's notes, etc, please see the first chapter.  
Dedicated to: vino-chan  
--

Sophie whiled away the time of the long show slowly, even remaining in her chair during the two intermissions between acts. She amused herself by mouthing lines along with actors, or reciting monologues in her head a split-second ahead of the delivery. At times she would admire her own composure, carefully regulating the curve of an arm or the timbre of her breathing to make it sound calmer, more natural. She was just telling herself that the worst was over; that the opera was almost done and she could begin to relax and breathe normally again, when the song started; _her _song started, and she froze, paralyzed in her seat. That Belladonna Gracehart was flat on the ascending aria, or that she scooped to the highest note, and even then it came out weak and wavery did nothing to soothe her temper. That the piccolo player started the third refrain in the wrong key, and that the curtain began to fall just a split second before it was supposed to, taking attention away from the graceful ballet going on below did nothing to calm her rage 1. While the rest of the audience tumbled out of their seats in order to give the cast and chorus a standing ovation, Sophie stayed stalwartly in her place, a heavy cloud over her brow. Finally the house lights were ignited, the outer doors were opened, and Howl carefully helped Sophie out of her seat, prattling on about the superb performance and magnificent presentation.

The after-party (Sophie had instinctively known that if there were any parties going on, Howl would find a way to be a part of them) was not held in the lobby as Sophie had feared, but instead was in a more secluded, tasteful salon, with hors-d'oeuvres and champagne littering every available surface. Sophie stood impatiently by the punch bowl, waiting for Howl's insatiable need for socializing and attention to be filled, when her eyes fell on a sight that could only have come from her worst nightmares. There was Mademoiselle Gracehart, the viperous Prima Donna from the show at the arm of Giuseppe Macambre himself – owner of the Opera house, and the entire related establishment – and, fawning over the two of them was Howl. The glass in Sophie's hand began to shake uncontrollably, so she set it down hard enough to cause the contents to slosh over the sides. Ignoring the stares of the surrounding patrons, she did the only thing she could think of. Boldly snaking a gloved arm around Howl's, she half curtsied to the other pair and greeted them with a stiff,

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur."

"Ah!" Howl murmured, "Monsieur Macambre, Mademoiselle Gracehart, allow me to introduce Sophie Hatter." The women exchanged brief nods, and Macambre briefly touched Sophie's fingertips to his lips with a quiet 'enchantée'.

"It really was a beautiful performance," Howl continued wherever he had left off in the conversation. "I understand that the Macambre operas are written specially for the singers?"

"It is true," Macambre answered in a light Elletalien accent 2. Sophie raised an eyebrow at the display; when she had known him, Macambre had spoken perfect Inglish. "Our operas are written, one every three years, for the best student of our voice school."

"Really?" Howl asked. "So there's only one new opera of yours every three years." Mademoiselle Gracehart nodded her ascent.

"Although," she continued, hiding a smile behind a lacy fan, "The older operas don't do badly either."

Sophie took the opportunity, while Howl was interrupting himself in his haste to proclaim his assurance of that to the lady, to carefully scrutinize the pair in front of her. It was plain from both of their faces that they had no idea who she was; whether she was glad of that or sorry she couldn't decide. It was also very evident that Belladonna was very much in admiration of Howl, showing him an uncommon amount of deference for her imposing character. The most worrisome part about this observation was that it was evident that Howl returned the admiration. It was obvious in his sidelong, admiring glances, and in his brilliant, flirtatious smiles, and in the way he held Sophie a little farther away from him then he ought, as if trying to show as little connection as possible 3.

"How many students are there in the voice school?" Howl asked, changing the subject.

"Quite a few." Again it was Belladonna that answered. "The largest branch is here, in Kingsbury, but there are many smaller branches in other towns."

"How is the best student singled out?"

"There is a test," Macambre said in his odd, fake accent. "An audition, if you will, held here in Kingsbury. All the children of the music school of an appropriate age travel here to audition for a panel of judges, consisting of all the voice masters and myself. The total number can be quite alarming. How many were there in your year, my dear?" he asked, turning to Belladonna.

"I think there were about sixty."

"Are the music schools very selective?" Howl asked, trying to keep Belladonna talking.

"Yes, very," answered Macambre. "Every year three hundred or more girls may audition, and half as many boys, and that is only here in Kingsbury."

Howl made an impressed cluck with his tongue.

"How many children are accepted into the school?" Sophie asked finally, grudgingly, after a moment of silence Howl obviously expected her to fill. Again, that seductive tinkle of laughter, covered by the fan, filled the air.

"All of the children enrolled in the school must take part in performances as part of their training. We only take as many children as there are openings in the cast."

"I see," Howl said. "So do the younger children work on things like costumes and sets?" Macambre answered in the affirmative. "What do the children who are enrolled in music schools in towns without established operas do?"

"They focus more intensively on their studies," Belladonna answered. "Many of them aren't full-time students in those cases, they just come for three hours after they're done at school or at work. Every once in a while an opera will tour through, and then they're required to work on that." A teasing glance from Mademoiselle Gracehart made Howl determined to make her the focal point of the conversation once more.

"You said that there were sixty children who all tried out for the part of Prima Donna?" Howl asked. "You must be very talented to be singled out like that."

Sophie, Mademoiselle Gracehart, and Monsieur Macambre all froze. Belladonna recovered first, and leaning forward in a confidential manner, almost whispered to him,

"You know it was a bit of a scandal – I didn't win my year!"

"Oh?" Howl asked, obviously surprised.

"No," Belladonna continued, "I was supposed to be the Seconda Donna."

"It's true," Macambre swiftly entered into the conversation. "It was the only time we have ever had the runner up take the lead in someone else's opera."

"You may have noticed that the part didn't quite seem to fit my personality," Belladonna murmured, smiling coyly at Howl.

"Not at all," he returned, touching her arm casually to complete the reassurance. Macambre smiled.

"Yes, and with a custom-written opera, as ours are, it just shouldn't happen. But there were several… oppositions to the original winner." Howl raised his eyebrows, silently prompting a more detailed response. At his side, Sophie's breath came shallow and fast, and her hands felt clammy inside her gloves. She clutched at Howl's arm too tightly, but he didn't notice.

"Well, for one thing, after she won she refused to stay here in the capitol. She insisted upon going back to her country village."

"I heard she had an ailing family member who she couldn't leave," interjected Mademoiselle Gracehart, but Macambre brushed it aside.

"And, although she was one of the most talented singers I have heard in my years as proprietor of this establishment, her appearance was too plain to make much of a sensation upon audiences."

"You do need a certain sort of glamour or finesse to work on the stage," Howl agreed, meeting Belladonna's eye for approval. "What happened to the girl?"

"She never reappeared after the first presentation of the score. We contacted her music instructor, but he never answered on the part of her whereabouts. She truly did drop off the face of the earth."

"I see," Howl murmured. "And… what was her name?"

"After winning the Grande Selection you give up your given name," Belladonna replied. Macambre nodded.

"Her stage name was Aglaia Duvall. Other than that, I know not."

The world began to tilt sickeningly around Sophie. Even as Howl turned to Macambre and began to ask if he himself had any students, Sophie suddenly lost her footing and slipped onto Howl's shoulder.

"Mademoiselle, are you all right?" Macambre asked, as Howl helped her stand up straighter.

"You really should get her home, Monsieur," Belladonna murmured. "It is late, and she looks very unwell. You have a carriage waiting?"

Macambre summoned their carriage and had their things called for. Howl helped Sophie stumble weakly out into the cool night air. Away from the influence of the vixen Prima Donna and her master she recovered quickly, and was able to alight into the carriage with little help from Howl. They had sat in silence for a few minutes, when Howl asked suddenly,

"Sophie, are you all right?" Sophie tried to bite back the sharp retort, but it was out before she could stop it.

"It's all the same to you. I had to faint into your arms before you'd pay one whit of attention to me." Howl was momentarily stunned by the conviction in her reply. Slowly a frown drew at his mouth.

"Well, if that isn't the best I ever heard," he muttered finally. "You faked ill just to get away! You know we could have left if you had asked. I even asked you this afternoon whether you wouldn't prefer to go home and you told me full speed ahead!"

Sophie's only answer was to glare at him across the dark carriage cabin.

"Sophie, normally you're very sensible, but I just won't be able to take you anywhere if you become jealous every time I look at a beautiful woman."

Without talking, Sophie lurched for the bell, and yanked it hard, bringing the carriage to an abrupt stop. Without so much as a word or a glance she threw open the carriage door and stepped out into the night.

"Sophie, what…? Come back in here –" Howl began, but Sophie cut him off effectively by shooting off down the street, hot tears blurring her vision. Her impaired eye-sight hardly mattered, as she didn't know her way around Kingsbury anyway. She had been dodging around random corners for about three minutes when she felt the feather-soft embrace of one of Howl's spells envelop her, and when she looked up again she was in the market square of Market Chipping.

She didn't consider how much magic it must have taken Howl to transport her half-way across the country, or how worried he had sounded when she had gotten down from the carriage. All she cared about was how quickly she could get to Cesari's and pour her story out to Lettie's compassionate ear.

She finally reached the bakery and ducked into an alley that would take her around the bakery to where the family and her sister had their residences.

She threw herself at the door, rage and desperation giving her strength, and pounded at it hard, calling her sister's name all the while.

It felt like a long time, but in actuality was only a few moments before a candle light appeared in one of the upper rooms, footsteps could be heard on the stair, and the master of the house threw open the door, carrying a lantern and a cane, apparently to use as a cudgel. The rest of the household appeared moments later, and Lettie threw herself forward and drew Sophie into the house.

Sophie was hustled inside and up to her sister's rooms, where there was hot tea and biscuits and a fresh nightgown already laid out. Lettie made Sophie sit quietly for several minutes, forcing food and drink on her. Finally, when Sophie was calm, Lettie put an arm around her and said,

"Now, darling, tell me all about it." Sophie sniffled for a few more seconds before collecting the composure to cry out,

"He took me to _Charité_!" Lettie blinked, surprised.

"He didn't," she said, quite calmly.

"He did!" Sophie wailed.

"He wouldn't," Lettie murmured, still in the same tone.

"He would."

"The bastard."

"_I know!" _Sophie yelled, and was shushed by her sister, who hissed something about her masters being light sleepers at her.

"What _precisely _happened?" her sister asked finally. Sophie took a deep breath, and the whole tale came tumbling out of her, almost completely unintelligibly, as she began with the way Howl and Belladonna had admired each other, worked her way back to the night before, and then finished with her sudden dizziness. After she was done with her story, her sister murmured several soothing reassurances to her, coaxed her into the laid out nightgown and convinced her to get a few hours sleep.

Sophie was woken early by the clamorings and clankings of baking sheets and ovens and the smell of baking bread. Her sister was not in her rooms, being already at work, when Sophie tumbled out of bed, but a cold breakfast was laid out for her, and her clothes from yesterday were nicely pressed and hanging from the door to the closet. After contemplating for a moment or two, Sophie put on her own clothes, but borrowed a dough-stained apron from her sister's chest of drawers and made her way downstairs.

She found her sister arranging platters of cookies for the counter displays, attending to the few early-morning regulars who stopped off for a bite before hurrying on their ways.

"Oh, no, darling, you go ahead and sit down," Lettie advised Sophie. Sophie thought about arguing, but eventually took off her sister's apron, and folding it neatly, placed it on her chair behind the counter.

"I should probably be getting home soon, anyway," she said regretfully. Lettie pursed her lips and smiled at the same time; she knew it was the right decision, but she didn't like the idea of her elder sister living with a man she wasn't tied to in any way, especially one with such a bad reputation as Horrible Wizard Howl.

"Sophie," Lettie called after her as she was making her way to the door, "as much as it hurts, he didn't know." Sophie gave her sister an almost imperceptible nod of understanding, if not of acceptance, and continued on through the door and out onto the street. The familiar, peaceful surroundings mollified her temper enough that by the time she got to her front door she was planning what she should make for lunch and dinner.

For some reason, it did not surprise her as much as it should to see Giuseppe Macambre in deep discussion with Howl at her kitchen table. The conversation stopped abruptly upon her entrance. Howl was eyeing her warily, as if she was a time bomb and he didn't know at what time she was set to detonate. Macambre stood up politely and gave her a small nod.

"Mademoiselle, I hope you're feeling better." Sophie managed to fix a smile on her face as she replied,

"I am, thank you. Get out of my house." Macambre blinked in astonishment at her brusque words.

"Sophie," Howl warned. Sophie turned calm eyes on him. "You remember what Monsieur Macambre was talking about last night? The Prima Donna who disappeared?" Sophie raised her eyebrows slightly, but other than that made no reply.

"After our conversation I began to feel guilty about my oversight of never locating her or contacting her before now. I came to the wizard with the best reputation in Kingsbury, and it was to my surprise to find your… ah…" Here Macambre trailed off, looking at Sophie's left hand and noticing the absence of a wedding band.

"If you please," Sophie said stiffly, "drop that ridiculous accent. It's giving me a headache. And, Monsieur Macambre, if you do not know who I am, you should." As the confusion in the man's eyes showed no hint of clearing, Sophie continued on in exasperation, "Monsieur Macambre, you came here to find your lost starlet, the one you let slip through your fingers because she was too plain to make it on the stage. You have found her. You need not feel any more pangs of conscience over me. Please leave." Sophie didn't dare take her eyes off Macambre's face, but she could easily guess the look of wonder that was passing over Howl's.

"Aglaia," Macambre whispered. He stepped forward, as if to embrace her or shake her hand, but Sophie stepped away from him.

"My name is _not _Aglaia. My name is Sophie Hatter. This is the third time I have asked you to exit my home and leave me in peace."

"But don't you see, this is wonderful!" Macambre exclaimed. "My dear, we can reaccept you into the music school, we can retrain you, make you a Prima Donna again –"

"_Monsieur Macambre_." Sophie's voice was flat and cold, the tone of voice she used on Markl when he misbehaved. There was no arguing with that voice. "You could not reaccept me even if you wanted to." Both Macambre and Howl raised their eyebrows at the note of pride in her voice. "After the death of my father, I ruined it, permanently. I screamed into my pillow for two hours every day, to ensure that I could never go back to what I had left."

Macambre opened his mouth, but Sophie cut him off by raising one hand. She walked to the door and drew it open upon the Kingsbury sidewalk. "This is my choice, this is my life. You may not think there is anything fulfilling about raising a family and running a business, but I do." Her voice almost broke, but she quickly regained control of herself. "I couldn't care less for costumes, and stages, and sets. I need to be surrounded by those I love, those I care about. I always have. Now, leave my house before I have the most powerful sorcerer in all Ingary forcefully expel you from it." Macambre left silently, without so much as a glance at Howl. He paused a moment to touch Sophie's arm, as a silent parting, and then was gone.

Sophie shut the door with a bang and a sigh of relief. Howl awkwardly came up behind Sophie and put an arm around her, not sure how she would respond. Encouraged when she leaned into his arm, instead of pulling away, he tucked her into a tight embrace. He held her for several minutes before whispering into her ear,

"Sophie, I'm sorry. Is there… Is there anything I can do?" It took Sophie several seconds to respond, and when she did, the answer surprised Howl.

"Yes."

"Yes?" Howl asked, looking down into her eyes.

"Yes, there is. You could come with me to the cemetery to visit my father."  
--

1 All miniscule errors, ones that would go unnoticed by the rest of the audience.  
2 Elletalian: another little tweaking of a country name.  
3 Again, all these things are true, but Sophie is seriously over-reacting.

All right. I know that this chapter is a little long, and the chapter breaks for this story are rather... odd, but I didn't write it originally with chapters in mind, and when it came time to break it apart, this was the best way I could figure how.

Also, as I don't have very much description of the character of Belladonna Gracehart, mostly just dialogue, this last clue should hopefully shed a little bit of light on who this character could possibly be and be from.

CLUE: This character is the only female character in the book _as it takes place_. She is described as a bit of a seductress, a 'tart'. The reader never learns her Christian name.

All right, guesses, anyone? I'll post the answer along with the dedication this last chapter once I've gotten a correct answer. Review please, and take care, all!

ANSWER: Please don't look at this if you're still planning to guess! _Belladonna Gracehart is based off of Curley's wife, from John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men_.


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